


If It Means A Lot To You

by Bayyvon



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bloody Knuckles, Brief Mentions/Implications of Pricefield, F/M, This doesn't have a happy ending I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bayyvon/pseuds/Bayyvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And hey sweetie</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Well I need you here tonight</i>
  <br/>
  <i>And I know that you don't want to be leaving me</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Yeah you want it but I can't help it</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I just feel complete when you're by my side</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Means A Lot To You

Nathan growls low in his chest, throwing his fist forward until it buckles against the bricks again and again, pure white hot rage flowing through his system and god does it hurt but the pain throbbing through his bleeding knuckles is nothing compared to the bone deep soul deep ache and the raging war in his head. He needed to think more clearly, he knew that. But even just thinking about seeing **her** stand _**that fucking close**_ to Max, hands locked as they traipse down the beach made something burst in his chest and Christ he can't fucking breathe around his own sobs he's going to explode he's sure of it.

Nathan can barely even fucking see around the red haze in his brain, feels the weight of his own unintelligible emotion cracking and con-caving his chest his ribs everything fills with fire and my god he's dying he can't breathe **he can't breathe.** He wants to avoid it, wants to erase it from his memory bleach his brain but it keeps catching him in flashes that feel more like red hot whip tongues and it all rises back up, like bile in his throat and he could vomit, rip out his hair _destroy himself_ , fucking hell his knuckles are blooming in patches of black and purple, blood flowing freely as he exposes the lines of muscle and joint he is a mess. He wants Chloe's jaws beneath his hands, to feel her crack beneath him as he lays out his anger in lines of blood and bruise and pure fucking **carnage**. He is primal and he is feral and he cannot see or breathe around the ache in his chest cavity full of boiling blood Jesus Christ he could slam his own head off the bricks if for no other reason than to silence the anguish in his brain for even a second.

 

That's the way Max finds him, blood drying across both hands, painted in rust and pansies as tear tracks dry around choked sobs and a shaking frame. His pistol lays at his knees and Max is glad she was the one to find him, and not anyone else.

"Nathan...? Are you okay?"

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears her voice and feels her hands on his shoulders. Ah, Christ. He was a mess a vulnerable disgusting mess and that's how she was seeing him, fucking hell. He scratches a nervous hand through his hair, and spares glances at her as if she burned his eyes when he did. He manages one mangled laugh from his tear thick throat before the anger flares up again and his knuckles are meeting the bricks blow for blow with a sickening wet crunching sound. Max firmly settles her hands around his wrists, forcing them to his sides. "Nathan!" He begins to struggle against her hold, but she stands her ground. "Hey! ...hey, what's going on? Look at- Nathan, look at me. Hey, what's goin' on?"

"Oh, y'know." Nathan shrugs, voice heavy, tongue thick in his mouth from all the tears- the _stupid fucking **tears**_ **.**

"No, Nate, I don't know. Tell me."

 

"You already know how I feel about her, Max."

 

"Nathan-"

 

"Lemme finish! Don't ask me to explain myself about her when you already know how I feel. I've told you a hundred times, if she's gonna be around then I'm gonna leave. I know ya love'er Max, but I don't. We got a shitty history, and I don't like the way she treats you. She ain't a good person, Max. And I know she says the same thing abou' me. An' that don't matter much. You matter, Max. You deserve so many good things, and I don't think I'm one of'em. I never have. An' I dont understand why you picked me, of all the people. Me. I don't seem ta do ya much good, y'know? I say a buncha shit I don't mean when I'm upset, so this prolly don't mean much t'you, but it means a lot ta me. I love you, Max 'n you know I do. But I don't love the person you are when she's around."

 

"If you wanted me to stay away from her, that's all you had to say, Nathan." Max cups Nathan's face, thumb stroking across his cheek.

 

"I have, Max! I've made it so fucking clear. . . . If. If she stays, then I leave. I don't wanna, but I will." Nathan avoids her eyes, doesn't wanna see the hurt he knows is there, can feel it when she speaks again.

 

"Nathan, you know I value you more than anything, but.. Chloe's my best friend."

 

"Yeah, right. You looked _real fuckin' **friendly**_ at the beach Saturday." His brows crease together, and his words drip with bitter venom.

 

".....that's what this is about? Jesus, Nathan." She groans, exasperated. **This again.**

 

"Don't _jesus nathan_ me, Max! I see the way Chloe looks at you."

 

"Chloe's hung-up on Rach-"

 

" **MAX**! Chloe is hung-up on **_you_**." Nathan shoves away from Max, tucking his gun into the waistband of his pants. He storms off towards his truck, Max calling after him.

 

"Dammit!" Max throws her fist forward, watching it crumple against the bricks, skin becoming raw and beads of blood beginning to form.


End file.
